


Sex Therapy (Do you see the pattern? The symmetry?)

by kdyelo



Series: Secrets exposed [5]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Divorced Daniel, Established Relationship, M/M, Miguel is in chapter 6, Miscommunication, No Whump, lawrusso, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdyelo/pseuds/kdyelo
Summary: Johnny and Daniel are engaged to be married, and they find they need to work through a few… sexual issues. Johnny engages a sex therapist, and hijinks (and angst) ensue.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Series: Secrets exposed [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058060
Comments: 83
Kudos: 101





	1. Take 1: Billy

**Author's Note:**

> The sex therapist calls them ‘Dan’ and ‘John’, which is weird - and intentional.

“For a guy who used to run a sex club, you are incredibly fucking uptight,” the big blonde man, John Lawrence, accused.

“It’s not a sex club,” the smaller guy, Dan LaRusso, retorted.

Billy’s attention bounced back and forth between them as though he was watching a particularly engrossing tennis match, not a sex therapy session, and he had no idea, none whatsoever, how to reel the feuding men back in.

“A social club? Whatever you want to call it.” John’s tone obviously struck Dan poorly. I really need to put a stop to this, Billy thought.

“A bar. With entertainment. I don’t run it now,” Dan explained to Billy, an awkward aside.

“Incredibly repressed,” John continued.

Billy used his best soothing NPR voice to divert their verbal altercation. “Gentlemen, let’s remember why we’re here.”

“Why are we here, Lawrence?” Dan challenged.

Billy blanched, gulped, and struggled to recover his gravitas. He’s barely thirty, as straight as they come, and trapped in a room with two nearly-fifty, newly-gay karate masters, so it’s a struggle to measure up, but goddamnit, he’s determined to do his best, fake it ‘til he makes it, as it were. “Mr. Lawrence engaged me-“

“Lawrence,” Dan thundered, emphasizing his last name, “I want to hear it from you.”

John sighed, tucked into one end of Billy’s office sofa. “We’re about to get married,” he started.

“And he thinks we need to talk through some _concerns_ about our _sex life_ ,” Dan finished.

“Can I finish my sentence at least?” John shouted.

Dan folded his arms, sunk into his end of Billy’s sofa, a solid three feet of nubby greige upholstery separating him from John. Between his rumpled black button-up, creased jeans, black boots, and his tensed, stubbled jaw, he looked like a small, angry gangster - but Billy stopped to inspect his own privilege. Would he have had that thought if Dan wasn’t so visibly Italian, olive-skinned and speaking with that rapid-fire northeast accent? No, not at all. Billy clearly hasn’t brought his best self to this session; he resolves to do better.

John’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, half-grimace, and he ran a hand through his dark-blond hair, leaving it ruffled and cowlicked. “We’re about to get married, and we need some help to work through some... concerns. About our sex life,” he finished lamely.

In his corner, Dan chuffed. He’s puffed his chest and squared his shoulders, but his brown eyes are wide, darting between his own knees and Billy’s face, conspicuously avoiding his fiancé’s gaze. This isn’t a good sign, Billy realized. He’d better do something.

“This is a safe space, a no-judgment zone. Let’s start with some rules. We take turns, we listen to each other without interrupting, and we are honest. We assume the best intent, because _we_ love and trust each other. Is that right? Can we agree to these rules?”

Billy figured he’d made some progress when both men looked up from their laps, first at him, then at each other. John nodded first; after a moment, Dan nodded too.

All right. Emboldened, Billy continued. “There are no taboos here; nothing is out of bounds for our session, and nothing leaves this room. John, this includes your sexual assault history. You're not required to discuss it, but if you choose to, this is a safe space.”

John paled and curled in on himself. Billy found that a little disconcerting, how a man that large could shrink down so effectively; he was reminded unpleasantly of an octopus video he’d seen on youtube. But it was Dan’s visible shock that finally clued Billy in to just how badly he’d fucked up.

“That was confidential!” John raised his voice while Dan stared at him, open-mouthed.

“You didn’t share that experience with Dan? I assumed you would. Had.”

“His name is Daniel. And, no. And I’m not doing it now. I handled it, it’s in the past. Not fucking relevant.”

Dan came to his feet and stood there for a minute, teeth clenched and trembling, staring down at his miserably-hunched fiancé. He raised his hands tensely and dropped them again; finally, he shoved his way through the door into the reception area.

John glared after him. “The fuck, dude,” he spat at Billy. Then he, too, stood and followed Dan - _Daniel_ , he corrected himself - through Billy’s door.

“Guess it’s time for a consult,” he said to the empty office as he picked up his office phone. When his colleague picked up at the other end, he explained: “I think I just fucked up again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess Bill/Billy/William is my default ‘idiot therapist’ name because I used it for one of Daniel’s appointment experiences in What Happened After the All Valley. I literally named him Bill Williamson. I have no idea why this is a thing with me.
>
>> His second appointment with the social worker is not nearly as helpful. The social worker is a younger man, Bill Williamson. Daniel can’t stop thinking about his name – did this guy’s parents really name him William Williamson? Is that normal? – which is making it hard for him to focus. 


	2. Take 2: Mike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy the therapist calls for reinforcement; that reinforcement is Mike. To make progress, Daniel and Johnny have to come clean about what their actual problem is. Unfortunately, communication isn't their strong suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to picture this scene, have a look at dedlit’s wonderful rendering on tumblr: https://dedlit.tumblr.com/post/644483925998190592/the-secret-exposed-series-by-kdyelo-is-amazing

**Ten minutes later**

After today’s fuckup, Mike knew he had to fire Billy. He hated firing people.

He forced himself into Billy’s narrow gray chair behind Billy’s sterile beige desk. The fit is so confined and limited that he can’t imagine how the junior therapist could possibly connect with clients. How do you empathize from behind a schoolteacher desk in a fluorescent-lit room painted the bland putty of an old CRT monitor? Mike considered himself a pretty well-adjusted guy, and the place still made him want to commit hara kiri.

He’d barely opened the Lawrence file when the two men pushed open the door; when they spotted him sitting in Billy’s seat, both hesitated. 

Mike raised both hands in an appeasing gesture. “Come in, you’re in the right place. Billy called for backup, so here I am. Thought I might be able to help out.”

John Lawrence entered first. He carried himself with balanced, athletic grace, settling into one end of the sofa with long thighs spread to claim his space, broad shoulders filling out his fashionably-faded Van Halen t-shirt nicely. This one’s used to getting his way. 

Daniel Lawrusso followed at a remove and sat stiffly at the other end. He’s leaner, darker, and where John is loose-sprung, Daniel is tightly wound, a two-day stubble emphasizing the tight lines of his chin and mouth. Angry, not that Mike can blame him.

“So you’re a?” Johnny prompted. His voice was not as deep as Mike expected.

“Sex therapist,” Mike confirmed. “I’m Michael Snow. One of the original partners. Opened this place in the eighties with two other guys. Call me Mike. What do I call you? John? Dan?”

“Johnny.”

“Daniel.” Even the syllables of his own name were spoken in staccato.

“All right, Daniel, Johnny. You’re here for sexual counseling and you’re sitting as far apart as humanly possible. Let’s fix that first. Daniel, do you like Johnny?”

Daniel, trapped and bristled, reminded him of a raccoon in a snare. “Yeah I like Johnny,” he replied tersely, his rapid-fire speech bridging the four words into one. “I came, didn’t I?”

Mike looked at Johnny. “Johnny, do you like Daniel?”

Johnny spoke evenly. “I love Daniel.”

That’s a start. “We’re here to talk about sensitive topics. Personal topics. You might feel more secure if you sit close to each other. And, if you’re hand-holding guys, hold hands. Or whatever. Up to you.”

For a long, uncomfortable moment, neither man moved a muscle; although Mike had learned over many years not to get emotionally invested in clients, his heart sank empathetically. Then, Daniel looked at Johnny with one eyebrow raised, his eyes open and soft. Johnny’s gaze was fixed on his own large hands in his lap, but then, he looked over at Daniel’s clenched hands, his chest, his neck - Mike could trace every step of the journey - his lips, his eyes. When Johnny finally reached out to Daniel, they grasped each other’s hands and knit their fingers tightly together. Mike exhaled.

“I should have told you,” Johnny said quietly, his voice pitched just for Daniel.

Billy, you fucking moron, Mike thought.

“I told you everything.” Daniel’s voice cracked on the last syllable.

Mike held up a hand to stop them. “Johnny, Daniel, now’s the time.” He motioned them together with a sweep of both hands.

Daniel muttered, “whatever, man,” under his breath, but he moved, closing most of the distance between him and Johnny. That seemed to shame Johnny into sliding over to close the rest of the gap. Each man sagged into the other, Daniel socketing neatly into Johnny’s shoulder, Johnny freeing his hand to wrap an arm around Daniel. For the first time, Mike saw how they fit together.

“William - Billy - broke your confidence. I apologize. Especially to you, Johnny.”

Johnny shrugged with his unoccupied shoulder. “It would have come out eventually. I should have, but it’s not, it wasn’t like.” He stuttered to a stop and stared vacantly ahead.

Mike turned his attention to Daniel, who’d trained his eyes on Johnny’s mouth as he spoke. “Daniel, Johnny wasn’t ready to tell you this story. Will you be patient with him, give him the time he needs?”

Johnny looked nakedly at Daniel. 

“Yeah, sure,” Daniel finally said. “I understand. I mean, I’ve waited this long. Years. What’s another day?” He smiled tentatively, Johnny answered with an unsteady smile of his own, and Mike blew out a lungful of air in relief. Another lawsuit averted. 

“Okay,” Mike said briskly. “We still have business to get through today. Tell me, what are you here for? What’s the problem?”

Johnny looked affronted. “Isn’t it in our file? Didn’t that other asshole take notes?”

“I want to hear it from you. Both of you.”

Daniel spoke first. “I want something Johnny’s not comfortable with. Uh. In bed.”

Johnny managed to look insulted and embarrassed at the same time. “He says he wants it, but he's not really going to want, uh, he won’t like it. And I don’t want to…”

“Speak plainly.”

“Fine. He wants me to hurt him.”

Daniel protested. “No, that’s not what I said.”

“You said you want me to dominate you.” Johnny looked at Mike for support. “But he gets pissed off when he thinks I’m trying to tell him what to do, or if I call him adorable, or whatever. I can’t win.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with, you know...”

“And God forbid I call him Danielle. End of the fucking world.”

“Fuck off, Lawrence.” Daniel pulled away, leaning forward as though to stand. Johnny looked stricken.

“Sit back,” Mike barked, and to his shock, Daniel shut up and did it. _Ah. Interesting._ “Say it. Say what you want. Johnny will listen, no interruptions.” Johnny’s mouth, already half-open and primed to interrupt, closed so quickly Mike heard his teeth click.

Daniel flushed from below his collar all the way up to his cheeks, and his ears turned a fiery red. “Fine. I like when he takes control, okay? Gets rough. Throws me around a little. But ever since the incident, he treats me like I’m gonna break.”

Mike hadn’t had time to read the full file given how recently (ten minutes ago) he took the case away from Billy; he had no idea what ‘the incident’ was, and hadn’t gleaned enough contextual clues to figure it out on his own. Was it an accident? Some kind of mental health crisis?

“I can’t hurt him,” Johnny insisted. “I won’t do it.”

“I don’t want you to hurt me. I want you to stop treating me like I’m made outta glass. And maybe… hold me down or something. Goddamnit.” Daniel’s face reddened again and he looked away. This one’s a blusher, deeply uncomfortable asking for what he needs.

“Okay, okay,” Mike held up both hands. “I get the picture. Daniel, your desire is nothing to be ashamed of. Johnny, there are ways couples like you make sure no one is being hurt. Are either of you familiar with the idea of a safe word?”

“A safe what?” Johnny demanded.

“I don’t need a safe word, I'm not talkin' whips and ball gags here.” Daniel’s words were clipped, dismissive. Johnny blanched.

“Maybe not,” Mike said. “But what if Johnny does? Can you see how it might make him feel more comfortable?”

"Feel comfortable, more comfortable, yeah, ok," Daniel mumbled to himself. It struck Mike as odd, but Johnny seemed to take it in stride. Interesting.

“I don’t know what the fuck either of you are talking about.” Johnny fisted his unoccupied hand into the jeans fabric at his thigh.

“You will,” Mike promised. “First, you both have homework tonight. When we meet again tomorrow, there will be a quiz.”

Daniel rolled his eyes; Johnny frowned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe… hold me down or something. Goddamnit!" Tell me you can't picture Daniel throwing that onto the table in complete frustration.


	3. Homework, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny and Daniel have a homework assignment together. It should be easy, but it's not.

“This is weird,” Daniel complained. They do this every night; they get undressed, turn out the lights and get into bed together. Why did tonight feel so different?

“Shut up and do it,” Johnny groused. “What’s the big deal? You don't want to get naked with me now?”

“You know better than that, asshole.” Daniel didn’t move.

“Then get naked.” Johnny called his bluff and held a straight face for as long as he could before the grin broke through.

Daniel forced himself off of top dead center, toed off his socks, pulled his undershirt briskly over his head, and stood before Johnny with arms crossed, shirtless and waiting. “Your turn, pretty boy.”

“Fine.” Johnny unbuttoned and slowly unzipped the fly of his jeans to reveal the eager bulge under his briefs. His eyes pinned on Daniel, he edged his jeans slowly down narrow hips to reveal golden-haired thighs. Watching him, Daniel blinked liquid eyes and licked his lips shiny with a quick dart of his tongue. Johnny quirked an eyebrow, stepped out of the jeans puddled around his ankles, unceremoniously stripped his t-shirt over his head and threw it over his shoulder, where it landed on the bathroom floor.

“Johnny,” Daniel warned, but there was no real anger in his voice. He bit his lower lip, and Johnny could see the hard line of his arousal through his jeans.

“Come on, I see you under there.” Johnny walked slowly to him, wearing only his briefs now, and unbuttoned Daniel’s jeans. Daniel flinched when he unzipped his fly and ran his fingers along Daniel’s length on the way back up.

“He told us not to-“

“Oh, we won't, I’ll behave if you will,” Johnny promised.

Daniel’s face broke into a smirk and he kicked off his own jeans and underwear, now fully naked and firmly interested. “We’ll see about that.”

Johnny stripped off his own briefs and took Daniel by the hand to gently lead him to their unmade bed.

“We’re supposed to just lay here together, naked, and talk? That’s it?” Daniel stretched out on top of the covers, watching Johnny.

“Yep. No clothes, full physical contact, and no sex until we’ve finished our homework.”

“Which is talking.”

“Telling each other a sexual fantasy. And a boundary. A no-go.”

“It’s weird.”

“Just do it, LaRusso.” Johnny sidled as close as he could manage. Because it wasn’t their usual heated ramp-up of foreplay or their lax post-coital cuddling, it felt awkward, even forced. The habitual nesting of hips and intertwining of legs suddenly required conscious thought to figure out; they scuffled over whose lower-side arms went where before finally settling on Johnny’s right arm under Daniel’s neck, and Daniel’s left arm folded between them. Their top-side arms draped over each other wherever they happened to fall; Daniel absently toyed with the short hair at the nape of Johnny’s neck.

“You first. This was your idea.” 

Daniel is so goddamned stubborn; Johnny gave in. “Fuck it. Our no-gos first then, so we can end with the good stuff.”

“Yeah, okay. Let's hear it.” Daniel tilted his forehead against Johnny’s neck, where he could feel as much as hear Johnny’s words rumble through his chest.

“Well, you know my ‘no’ already. You can’t choke me. Especially from behind.”

Daniel knew this. “Fucking Kreese.”

 _Fucking Billy._ Johnny tightened his hold on Daniel’s back. "It’s not just about Kreese."

Daniel started to open his mouth, closed it again, and waited.

"I told you I knew I was gay when I was a kid, but I hid it and tried to stick to girls, right. So, in college, I wanted to try the other side, see what it was like. But no one could know."

"Ok." That made sense to Daniel, especially thinking back to the stigma of the eighties.

"So I went to a bar for, uh, people like us, and I let this guy pick me up. We had a lot to drink, me more so than him. I thought I was ready, but when we, uh, got down to it, I wasn't. I mean, I’d never done it before, and I didn't really know the guy, and he was, uh, rough. He put his arm around my throat and did it anyway."

Daniel squeezed his eyes shut, and they were both silent for a long moment. 

"When we first got together, you said you'd never done this with a man before." When Johnny stiffened, Daniel realized how that must have sounded. "I didn't mean it like - I meant, you didn't try again for a long time."

"No. That was my last, uh, try for a while." _If you could call twenty years 'a while'._ "That’s also why I decided to see a psychologist back then. To get a handle on the - the Kreese thing. So no one else could use it against me like that. I told you that part."

Daniel nodded; early on, he’d asked Johnny how he’d gotten past 'the Kreese thing'. He understood why Johnny wouldn’t have volunteered the rest of the story.

"There’s another thing. He called me 'pretty boy'."

"Sometimes I call you that." In fact, Daniel realized, he’d done it that very night.

"Yeah. It's okay because it's you." (Daniel’s chest tightened and his head swam, whether with love or shame, he couldn’t tell. Probably both.) "But maybe don’t say it when we're like this."

Daniel stroked the line of Johnny's spine. “You, uh, you seem okay. Are you okay?” Is that a thing you can say to someone, that they seem okay about something like that? Well, he’d said it.

Johnny shifted to rest his hand on Daniel’s waist. “I put in the work. I’m okay. Now it’s your turn.”

“I mean, after that, how am I supposed to.”

“Don’t leave me hanging, LaRusso. Come on.”

“Jesus, Johnny.” They breathed each other’s air silently for several minutes. “You hate when I talk about this shit,” Daniel finally started.

“Turnabout’s fair play,” Johnny said. He intended it to be encouraging.

“Ok, fine. What I’m most worried about is already happening. That something I do, or want, whatever, sexually, is going to freak you out and you’re going to punch out.” He avoided Johnny’s eyes while he said it, and his other hand, the one nested between their bodies, twisted, itching to gesture and emphasize the point.

“That’s not happening,” Johnny protested, his voice soft. “I’m not going to punch out. What does that even mean?”

“Didn’t you see Top Gun?”

“I know what the goddamned words mean, why do you think I’m going to eject? Nothing’s going to make me eject, okay?”

“That’s what she said.” The wry twist he put into the words didn’t make them funny.

“That is the worst fucking joke at the worst fucking time.” Daniel squeezed his eyes shut again, but he could hear how pissed off Johnny was. “I’m not going to eject. I’m not Amanda. That whole thing was fucked up.”

“I just, you know, I thought we were gonna be together forever. Kids, a house, all that shit.”

“Shut up.” Johnny’s voice was rough; so was his hold on Daniel. “Her loss is my gain.”

“I don’t feel like doing the other part,” Daniel breathed into his neck.

“Me either. Enough homework for tonight.” Johnny stroked his hair.


	4. Take 3: Mike, again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel and Johnny have a painful breakthrough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers a pretty triggering session, including trampling of established boundaries and some problematic behavior on the part of our therapist. Proceed with caution.

Mike waited for his new clients, the karate guys, to arrive. 

Unlike Billy’s sterile moonscape of a room, he’s filled his own office with color and life. A purple sofa, smaller than Billy’s so his clients feel secure. (It’s a thing he picked up from his partner, a veterinarian, who once gave him a detailed spiel about dogs and crates.) Several plants. Weird art from local artists on his walls. A little vase of potpourri to add a warm vanilla smell to the room. (He learned that from his sister, a real estate agent, who told him baking smells are welcoming.) He himself doesn’t use a desk; instead, he has a comfortable old leather recliner. With a laptop, who needs a desk? Just gets in the way of the body language.

When the two men arrived, they walked in together and sat closely nested on the little purple couch, Daniel’s left shoulder crooked into Johnny’s right, hips pressed tightly against each other. All the tension and reluctance of the previous day was gone, replaced by the closeness that marks emotional security. Well. First test, passed.

“Hey,” Johnny said; “We’re back,” Daniel said at the same time, and they glanced at each other, Johnny’s eyes fond, Daniel flashing a dimpled smile.

“Good to see you back,” Mike greeted both. “How did you do with your homework?”

Daniel answered. “We got through the part about our no-gos. Our hard stops. After that, we decided not to do the other part.” He’s clean-shaven today, his mouth set in a firm line, one hand possessively cradling Johnny’s thigh. So they’d discussed Johnny’s assault, Mike concluded, as well as whatever Daniel had going on, and neither had used it against the other, always a risk with an assignment like this. Tests two and three, passed.

“Okay. You did good.” Both look surprised. “Now we’re ready for some problem-solving.”

Johnny leaned forward, elbows on knees.

Daniel snatched up one of the fidget toys Mike keeps on the low table in front of the sofa. He chose a textured one marketed to provide sensory stimulation to autistic children and massaged it aggressively with his unoccupied hand. Mike noticed, but did not call attention to, the odd hashwork of scars on the man’s knuckles. He wondered if they had anything to do with the incident he’d read about in Daniel’s history. Attacked by a third karate master with a thirst for vengeance? As though two of them weren’t enough trouble already.

“Let’s start with you, Daniel. What fear did you share with Johnny?”

Daniel’s hand halted on the toy, then started again with a renewed, compulsive vigor. He avoided looking at Mike. “We have to tell? It wasn't a sexual thing.”

“If you want my help, yes.”

“Okay. My wife, ex-wife, left me when she learned about my…flexibility. Bisexuality. I’m afraid Johnny will do the same thing. About the, you know.”

“Your desire to be handled roughly. Dominated.”

“Yeah. That’s why Johnny brought us here. He thinks you’re gonna fix me.” He abandoned the fidget toy to leaf his fingers through almost-black hair.

“LaRusso, no, that’s not why I asked you to come with me. I just thought a therapist would help us work through it.”

“‘It’,” he repeated pointedly.

“I have a prescription for Daniel’s fear of abandonment,” Mike announced. “Want to hear it? It’s easy. You’re already doing it.”

Both men looked up. 

“Johnny, when Daniel tells you what he wants, you listen. And, no matter what, you maintain physical contact. You touch. You tell him you’re not going anywhere, as often as it takes.”

Johnny looked at Daniel and nodded definitively. “I told him I’m not punching out. No matter what.”

Daniel squeezed his eyes closed and said nothing. One hand, Mike noticed, still held Johnny’s thigh.

“We’re not done yet,” Mike pointed out. “Johnny, your turn.”

“Fuck. Doc, come on. You know already.”

“Don’t be a pussy,” Mike barked. “You want my help or not?”

Daniel opened his eyes to look at Johnny. “Babe, it’s okay. You can do this.”

Johnny took several deep breaths; Mike recognized the self-calming technique, apparently well-practiced. “I told Daniel about the, uh. How it went down, and why he can’t. The choking thing.”

“The sexual assault,” Mike said.

“When it happens to chicks, they call it date rape,” Johnny said evenly. “There wasn’t a name for it, for guys. Even in therapy, we didn't call it… anything.”

Mike was steadfast. “It’s the same thing, so we give it the same name. Sexual assault. Say it.”

“Sexual assault,” Johnny repeated flatly. 

“Did you talk about safe words? Look it up on the internet at least?”

“Yeah, I looked it up,” Johnny admitted.

“Good. We’re going to try it now,” Mike told them both.

“No,” Daniel replied. He’s figured out what Mike’s going to ask them to do. Smart guy.

“Johnny, Daniel’s going to put you in a chokehold-“

“No, I’m not,” Daniel said, louder this time. 

Johnny is frozen, silent and still as glass.

“-and when you use your safe word, he’s going to stop.”

“I can’t hurt him. I won’t do it.” Daniel finally released Johnny’s thigh and twisted his hand into the sleeve of Johnny’s t-shirt.

Mike stared him down. “That’s what Johnny said yesterday about you. He used exactly those words.”

“Oh, fuck you, Mike,” Daniel growled.

“It’s a trust exercise.” Mike kept his tone even and calm. “Do you see the pattern? The symmetry?”

“This is fucked up. We’re leaving, right now.” Daniel uncoiled and rose, dragging Johnny up with him by the sleeve.

Johnny grabbed for his arm. “Wait. I trust you."

Daniel broke and sagged back to the sofa. “Johnny,” he sobbed.

"We need this." Johnny's legs visibly trembled.

Mike interjected. “Do you trust Daniel to tell you when he needs you to stop? Because the power isn't where you think it is.”

“To tell me if he needs to stop,” Johnny nodded: Yes.

Daniel cried openly now; Mike felt it in his heart as sympathetic pain, and at the same time, his years of experience told him: this is necessary, this is the breakthrough they needed.

“I’m giving you ten minutes to yourselves,” Mike told them both. “You each decide on a safe word, share it with each other, and you pull yourselves together. Got it?” 

When he returns, ten minutes from now, they’ll either be gone… or they’ll be ready.

…

Mike returned to a pleasant surprise: both men are still in his office, fairly composed, standing by the window. Daniel still clutched Johnny' shirtsleeve.

“I thought of something,” Johnny said as soon as Mike closed the door behind him. “What if we can’t speak. We can’t say the safe word.”

“That’s a good question,” Mike observed. “Daniel used to manage a sex club?”

“Social club,” Daniel corrected him. 

“Okay, social club. Answer Johnny’s question.”

“There are different ways, but the easiest is a hand signal.”

“That’s right. Hold your hand up like that. Universal sign for ‘stop’. That’s it.”

Both men looked at him, then at each other. Then, they did something Mike didn’t expect: Daniel released his hold on Johnny’s shirt, they turned to face each other an arm’s length apart and bowed, eyes locked together, warm brown on clear blue.


	5. Afterwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “We’re not going back to Mike,” Daniel insisted. “He taught us something, ok, but we have it from here. Right?”

Their drive home was uncomfortably silent, the air deadened with unspoken thoughts. They’d been promised some kind of resolution, a path forward, but neither felt they had that. Not exactly.

Johnny had driven them to the session in the Audi; given Johnny’s emotional state, Daniel drove them home, the wheel of the large sedan feeling unwieldy and alien in his hands, the leather and quiet strange to him even after all their months together. In the passenger seat, Johnny’s knees arrowed towards the door, his eyes trained on the scenery outside. Daniel ached to hold his hand or, failing that, rest his hand on Johnny’s knee or his shoulder, but his fiancé was collapsed in on himself in a way Daniel found disconcerting.

He knew this was a bad idea. Johnny had insisted, every step of the way, but now this has happened. And all because Daniel wanted - well, never mind what he wanted. It wasn’t worth this.

He can’t say “I told you so.” When push came to shove, Johnny insisted they get through it, over Daniel’s objections. What can he say now?

In the parking lot of the condominium, he turned off the ignition and handed Johnny the keys. They both listened to the ticking of the cooling engine and the muted sounds of seagulls outside, and stared across the road at the sand dunes.

Daniel finally broke their stalemate: “Want to take a walk?”

Johnny finally, reluctantly, met his eyes. “Okay.”

…

Johnny locked the car, held out his hand, and Daniel took it, weaving their fingers tightly together.

…

They walked northward along the beach for about half a mile, until they reached an isolated, rocky stretch of beach threading its way through outcroppings of stone. Plenty of places of shelter, but hard going if you wanted to go any further without shoes. They finally collapsed together near a stony ledge, still holding hands.

“The beach always makes me think about that bonfire,” Daniel said, and looked sidelong at Johnny. “You on that Honda, that golden hair, the headband thing you wore all the time.”

Johnny huffed. “Ali gave me that. God, you were such a cocky shit. You really thought you were going to take me down, defend the girl.”

“Yeah.” Daniel’s right arm was hooked tightly around the elbow of Johnny’s left. His hand was sweaty where they still held on, but he didn’t mind. Both of them had rolled up their jeans, their shins and calves now sandy halfway to their knees.

“So,” Johnny started.

Daniel waited.

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

Daniel waited some more.

“I’m okay,” Johnny said as though he’d decided just then to be okay. “I wanted to get through it, and see how the safe word thing works. I trust you.”

Okay. He has to say this. “We’re not going back. Maybe we got something out of it. Learned something. I understand now what you meant when you said you don’t want to hurt me. But I think that was enough.”

Johnny shrugged.

“We’re not going back to Mike,” Daniel insisted. “He taught us something, ok, but we have it from here. Right?”

For the first time since they left Mike’s practice, Johnny looked directly at him, squinting in the late afternoon daylight, and Daniel could see his age in the folds at the corners of his eyes and the little strands of silver in his hair. In his mind’s eye, though, Johnny will always be that golden boy from the beach. 

“Okay,” Johnny agreed, then closed his eyes and flopped to his back in the sand.

Daniel did the same, knew they'd regret this later - the sand in their hair and who knows where else - and wondered if their shoes, abandoned back at the boardwalk, will still be there when they return. They breathed in and out slowly, meditatively, watching each other carefully across the arms’ length that separates them.

“So, compared to all your… whatever… my fantasy is boring,” Johnny said.

That’s hard to believe, Daniel thought. They’ve been together for a year, and Johnny can still excite him with just a look. A glance at his mouth. A quirked smile from the other side of the dojo floor. A direct gaze over dinner. A raised eyebrow with their morning coffee. Any of these is enough to make his heart race and stutter.

“Forget my ‘whatever’. Tell me." He rolled closer, on his side in the sand now, and lay his arm along Johnny’s to rest his palm on his chest through his t-shirt. He intends the touch to reassure, and is in turn reassured by the steady rise and fall of Johnny’s breath under his hand.

Johnny shrugged and rolled to his side, bringing them face to face. “I’m a simple guy. Walk on the beach, a little wine, slow, deep, and, uh, eye contact…” 

“Lovemaking,” Daniel said. “Face to face.” He’s not surprised; he knows what Johnny responds to, what really takes him apart.

“The most vanilla gay guy on the planet, right here; I like it missionary style.” Johnny laughed, a soft rumble against his palm.

Daniel pitched his voice low and soft. “What else? Fancy hotel room, silk sheets, a view of the city lights?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me.” They’re both windblown and a little sweaty, and Daniel noticed the back of Johnny’s neck was already crusted with sand. He leaned in and tasted, high under his jaw, and found him salty.

Johnny tensed ticklishly. “Outside,” he breathed. “Near the ocean.”

“We’re here now.” He applied a little suction, a pinch of his teeth, knowing he’ll leave a mark. _Mine._

“Yeah.” Johnny’s voice carried his smile.

“Under the stars?” Daniel pressed against him, just enough to roll him onto his back, and hooked one leg lightly over his thighs. 

Nearly nose-to-nose now, Johnny looked up at him with the beginnings of a teasing smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. 

“Answer the question, Lawrence.”

“Yeah,” Johnny admitted, “a blanket, at night, looking up at the stars.” 

“Okay.” Daniel tongued his lower lip until Johnny opened his mouth to him.

...

Much later, at home, Daniel whispered, "I like vanilla," Johnny laughed and pulled him tight against his body.


	6. In the dojo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unresolved tensions spill over into the dojo. Johnny and Daniel have their own ways of working things out - results may vary.

Miguel is used to the idea of Mr. LaRusso having a boyfriend; he’d seen Johnny visit his apartment plenty of times, starting last spring when they started dating. He’d helped him carry his stuff to the U-Haul when he moved out of his apartment to go live with Johnny. He’s even used to calling them Sensei LaRusso and Sensei Lawrence in class since he’d started practicing karate at Kyoudai Karate. 

He isn’t used to the two of them wearing engagement rings - that’s so weird - but he’s working on it. He knows men can marry each other, and women too, but he’d never seen it up close before, so had never really thought about it, and now, he’s trying to figure out the mechanics of the wedding. With two grooms, who walks down the aisle? Does someone get given away? Will the preacher say, ”I now pronounce you man and man”? When he asked yaya, she just shrugged, threw up her hands and said they didn’t have marriages like that back in Eduador. He avoids thinking about the mechanics of the _rest_ of it, the same way he avoids thinking too much about his mom dating Jake’s dad.

Today’s Monday which means Mr. LaRusso will be at the dojo early because his bar is closed Mondays. Since Miguel started driving yaya’s car to school, he can go wherever he wants after school, and on Mondays, where he wants to go is the dojo to hang out with Mr. LaRusso. He’s not supposed to have anyone else in the car with him, but sometimes he breaks his mom’s rule and lets Eli ride with him. Today is one of those days. They’re not friends, exactly, but they’re friendly. Eli’s okay, and he likes to go in early on Mondays too.

They stop by the Stop n’ Go a few blocks from the dojo to buy themselves a couple of sports drinks, plus a can of the cold brew coffee Mr. LaRusso likes. Happily, the dojo door is unlocked when they arrive - sensei’s already here. Sometimes they have to wait.

“Heyyy sensei!” Miguel calls.

“Heyyy Miggie,” Mr. LaRusso calls back. “Hey Hawk, flying in early today? What do you two wanna do today?”

It’s four o’clock, so they have most of an hour before real class starts. He looks at Eli, who grins back at him and speaks for them both. “Show us some of the Okinawan stuff. The real stuff.”

“Guys, come on, it’s all real stuff,” their teacher huffs. “Get suited up.” He’s already ready, barefoot in his plain white gi. 

(Miguel doesn’t know this, but Hawk does: Sensei LaRusso only started wearing the gi at practice in March. Hawk still feels uneasy guilt when he sees those two big scars high on sensei’s chest, but he keeps that to himself, deals with it on his own, as his penance for telling Terry Silver where he could find Sensei LaRusso. Since Hawk came back to the dojo, Sensei LaRusso hasn’t said a word about it. Neither has Hawk.)

Miguel and Eli buzz excitedly in the locker room because their extra Monday time always offers something good, something none of the other students have learned yet. Plus, it’s fun. They tumble out of the locker room hurriedly, their clothes piled messily wherever they were shed, and assemble on the mat to wait.

Sensei LaRusso always insists on starting them out with kata. Miguel groans, but he sucks it up and does it anyway. At least this is a new sequence, and usually the pattern demonstrated in the kata translates into whatever sensei teaches them next, so it’s not a total waste.

Then sensei gets a sparkle in his eyes: “I’m going to show you something my sensei taught me in Okinawa. It saved my life once.” He even winks.

“What do you mean?” Miguel asks, startled.

“Are you here to learn or not, Diaz?” he barks, but it’s not quite at the level of Sensei Lawrence’s bark. Even Eli is terrified when Sensei Lawrence is on a tear.

“Yes, sensei,” Miguel answers hastily - but he can’t hold back a little smirk, and sensei quirked his mouth right back at him.

The other thing he’s nowhere near getting used to is how a lot of the other students in the dojo still treat Mr. LaRusso like he’s delicate or weak. There was that fight, attack, whatever, he’d had at the bar he owns in January, but that was _ages_ ago. It’s April, and he’s obviously fine now. He’s in good enough shape to put both of them through their paces without breaking a sweat, and strong enough to have dropped each of them to the mat a couple of times just this afternoon. 

Sensei is holding his hand out to Miguel after one of these takedowns when he glances up at the clock, makes a face, and jerks Miguel quickly to his feet. “All right, the others will arrive soon, start setting up the mats,” he directs them both as he props the dojo door open, allowing the fresh spring breeze to blow in.

Aisha arrives first, high-fiving both Eli and Miguel on her way to the women’s changing room. She is followed closely by Jake, who ignores Eli and waggles his eyebrows at Miguel. _Asshole._ A few minutes later, Sensei Lawrence walks in, wearing his clothes from the office.

“Hey sensei,” he and Eli call out in unison; Sensei Lawrence responds with a friendly wave - but then he spots LaRusso in the office, drinking the can of cold brew coffee and drying his face with a towel. LaRusso raises an eyebrow and nods; Lawrence narrows his eyes for a moment before nodding back.

It’s funny. Everyone knows they’re together, but they still act cool and casual when they’re in the dojo. Professional. Chill.

Ten minutes later, it’s class time. Aisha warms them up - never mind Eli and Miguel are quite warmed up already - but Miguel can hear their senseis speaking in low, urgent voices in their office. They’ve closed the door most of the way, and the dojo is pretty loud between Aisha’s commands and the students’ kiai, so he only catches snatches of their words.

“so when did they”

“still not at 100%”

“demonstration after the”

and finally, an exasperated “Oh, come on, Johnny.”

It doesn’t sound like a pleasant conversation to Miguel.

A few minutes later, Sensei Lawrence comes out of the office to lead the class alone. That’s not unusual, but the stern look he shoots at Eli is; his friend blanches and glances sidelong at Miguel, who carefully schools his face into a neutral expression. The last thing he wants to do is incur the Wrath of Lawrence. Sensei Lawrence knows him, of course, and seems to like him, but he’s also a little bit harder on Miguel than he is on the other students. He told Miguel once that he only does it so Miguel will be a better student than he was. But Sensei Lawrence is his teacher, so how is that even possible? It doesn’t make sense. When he asked yaya about it, she just patted him on the back and told him he’d understand when he’s older, which is pretty much the worst answer on the planet.

Sensei LaRusso emerges from the office at the half-hour mark; it’s the usual time for them to split up their students into smaller groups for more-focused hands-on work. LaRusso has Eli, Aisha, Jake and Bert, and Lawrence has the rest, but when Sensei LaRusso and Eli start, Sensei Lawrence is watching them closely, suspiciously. At the first real contact, Lawrence shouts, “Hawk! Easy!”

Mr. LaRusso is always so patient in class, but when Sensei Lawrence said that, he looked really mad. Then he took a deep breath and his face went flat. “Start again,” he told Eli. With only the briefest glance at Sensei Lawrence, Eli picked up where he left off, a push-kick just below Sensei LaRusso’s waist. Sensei blocked it easily, even talked through his defense for the benefit of the other students in his group, but then Sensei Lawrence stalked over from his own group to LaRusso’s.

“It doesn’t have to be full contact over here,” he starts.

“Lawrence, we’re doing fine.”

“This isn’t a good-“

“This is necessary,” Sensei LaRusso says evenly. Then, lower, “Back off.”

“Daniel-“

LaRusso squeezes his eyes shut, and it’s clear even to Miguel that he’s working hard not to lose his temper. When he speaks, his east-coast accent is stronger than Miguel has ever heard it. “If we’re not gonna work on this with students, let’s you and I demonstrate it, then pair them up to practice. Okay?”

Sensei Lawrence grunts. “Okay,” he finally agrees, but he doesn’t sound happy about it.

They square off, do the rei, and begin, but even Miguel, as new as he is to karate, can tell Sensei Lawrence is just going through the motions. It’s not the real thing at all, in fact, it’s utter bullshit. Mr. LaRusso starts to look pissed, and he even switches over to the offensive, pushing much harder than Sensei Lawrence was. Now Sensei Lawrence looks angry - especially after Mr. LaRusso catches him good with a strike to the jaw.

“Step out,” the big blond sensei finally growls.

“You got it,” LaRusso growls back. “Aisha, you know the drill. Pair them up.”

Lawrence looks surprised at this stern command, and is surprised again when LaRusso turns and stalks to the back door, the one leading to the storeroom. Lawrence rushes to keep up.

Aisha and Eli look at each other uneasily, then Eli looks at Miguel. “Sometimes they get like that,” he says conspiratorily. Aisha elbows him in the ribs; he grunts and shuts up in a hurry.

Miguel and Eli square off, and, Eli leading, they spar, focusing on the strikes and blocks taught this evening. He’s having a hard time focusing because he can hear their senseis debating loudly in the back. Not the words, just the tone, but it’s enough to know they’re really fighting.

“Mommy and daddy are fighting again,” Jake says, hyena-pitched. _Such a dick._

Eli rolls his eyes.

“Should someone go check on them?” Miguel suggests uneasily. He hears a thump and a crash, and is pretty sure he’s not brave enough to be that someone.

“Take it from me,” Jake replies, “you don’t want to do that.” One of the other guys snorts, and Aisha shushes them both. Weird.

There’s blessed silence for a good ten or fifteen minutes. With Aisha’s direction, they manage to get in some reasonable practice time.

Miguel hears more conversation through the back door, but now it’s calmer. Talk, not conflict. Finally, Sensei Lawrence pushes open the door between the storeroom and the dojo, passes through it and closes it behind him. It’s near the end of today’s lesson period, and sensei watches Aisha and the others from where he stands at the back of the room, feet planted at shoulder-width and arms crossed over his chest.

Miguel’s trying to focus on practice and finish the lesson strong, but he can’t help it; his eyes are drawn to Sensei Lawrence, and he sees the man is flushed and damp with sweat. His hair’s messed up, and while Miguel watches, he runs his hands through it to smooth it down.

A few minutes later, Sensei LaRusso pushes through the door and joins Lawrence at the edge of the mat. Lawrence looks him over, head to toe - and smooths down the top of his gi with his hands. A nearly imperceptible smirk flashes across LaRusso’s mouth.

LaRusso looks okay, considering how at odds he and Lawrence have been through most of the lesson, not to mention all the racket in the storeroom. His cheeks are rosy and his eyes are bright as though he’s been laughing, not arguing. Then they link their pinkies, a serious breach of their usual dojo protocol.

Something about the way his two teachers stand together makes Miguel feel a funny little twist in his stomach, like he’s seeing something private he’s not supposed to see; embarrassed without quite understanding why, he looks away, back to Eli and Aisha.

Class is pretty much done by that point and they’re all restless, muttering and waiting for Aisha’s cue to break - a cue she finally gives. It’s also Sensei LaRusso’s cue to break ranks with Sensei Lawrence, pat Aisha’s shoulder and praise her work with the class.

“Good work, thanks for taking over,” he tells her quietly; she glows at his praise and makes no comment about the circumstance that led to it. “You ok, Miggie? Birdman?”

“Yeah, yeah,” they reply.

Across the mat, Jake rolls his eyes; Miguel surreptitiously flips him off. _Jackass._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same-sex marriage in Ecuador was legalized July 2019, following a Constitutional Court ruling that the country's ban on same-sex marriage was unconstitutional under the Constitution of Ecuador. This chapter is set in 2018.


	7. Final homework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel and Johnny find a way through their differences. You probably won't be surprised by their methods.

As soon as Daniel made contact with Johnny’s jaw, knocking him off-balance in front of a dojo full of students, he knew he'd pushed their conflict too far. He’d allowed his temper to get the better of him, as though he’d learned nothing at all about self-control since he was a teenager. _Fuck._

Johnny cradled his jaw and glared at him, nostrils flared, a pace away across the mat. Worse, Miguel, Eli and the others watched them worriedly.

“Step out,” Johnny growled.

“You got it,” LaRusso growled back, because God forbid he give any ground. “Aisha, you know the drill. Pair them up.” He forced himself to calmly turn and walk to the back of the dojo, to and through the back door although his heart pounded. Johnny was close on his heels.

The door slammed behind Johnny, and Daniel turned to find his fiancé angry, face thunderous and flushed. On the other side of the door, he could hear Aisha’s strong voice overriding the chatter of the rest of the class, pulling them into pairs and keeping them moving. Thank God for Aisha.

"What the fuck, LaRusso. Full-on sparring? And if you think I don't see you sneaking around and giving extra lessons on Mondays-" Johnny’s voice echoed in the concrete-floored room. 

Daniel clenched his fists. "Oh, come off it, Johnny. I’m sneakin’ around? Thought this was our dojo, so how am I sneakin’ around, huh? How does that make sense?"

Johnny rounded on him. "You’re not hiding it? Don't bullshit me."

"Well, don't get so fucking weird about it. They come early, I show ‘em some things. We horse around a little, have some fun without mother hen tellin’ ‘em every three minutes to be careful, take it easy on poor, weak Sensei LaRusso-"

"And don't get me started on Hawk, that rabid little shitweasel," Johnny barreled over Daniel’s words. It was infuriating, the way Johnny still wasn't listening to him.

"I was the one who got hurt," Daniel shouted. He also shoved Johnny two-handed, matching his shove to the volume of his voice, both meant to be painful in the bare storeroom. "I know what I can handle. Me! Not you. I decide whether to forgive. And I forgave Eli. End of story."

Johnny was on his heels, off balance, eyes wide and breathing heavily. "It wasn't just you who was hurt that day," he finally said. That brought Daniel back to January, and what Johnny went through, and his mother, and Laura. Somewhere under all of his frustration came a sudden flare of shame.

"But I'm fine now." He struggled to keep his voice even. "I’m at full strength. So let me-"

"Let you what? Get thrown around in practice?"

"You don't trust me," Daniel realized, speaking the words as soon as they took form in his mind. "Even after that session with Dr. Mike. I thought you got it. I didn't want to do that shit, put you in a chokehold when it’s the one goddamned thing you didn’t want me to do, but I did it for you. And you still don't trust me!" He delivered the last sentence as an uneven shout.

"I thought we were talking about class," Johnny retorted. His eyebrows furrowed.

"It’s the same… fuck. It's the same goddamn problem. It's your problem." Daniel lurched away from Johnny, towards the door to the dojo floor. "Enough. This is pointless."

Johnny snatched at his collar. “Don't walk away from me, we’re not done."

He pulled out of the man’s grip. “Why not, Johnny? You don’t hear a word I’m saying.”

“What happens next, LaRusso? You walk out, and go teach class like nothing-“

“Yeah, I go teach class. Stop treating me like I can’t. I’m 100%, I could kick your ass right now."

“Oh, is that what we're doing, kicking each other’s ass now?”

“Try me.”

Johnny shrugged, eyes glinting, and shoved him hard, sending him into one of the wire storage racks stationed along the walls of the storeroom. Daniel grasped Johnny’s forearms and pulled him along with him, using his own momentum to swing him into the rack as well. It rocked under their weight and toppled several boxes from the top shelf. The loud clatter filled the space.

Both paused for a moment, listening. Did the class hear that through the closed door? But no, from the sound of it, class continued uninterrupted.

Turning his focus back to Daniel, Johnny pushed him against a stack of boxes and held him there, his hands vised into Daniel’s tensed upper arms, Daniel’s thighs pinned between his. Daniel harshly broke his arms free of Johnny’s grip; Johnny grappled with him to regain his hold. Embarrassingly, Daniel was almost painfully aroused, his erection tenting his loose-fitting pants to press firmly against Johnny's hip.

Chest-to-chest, they stared each other down - then Daniel noticed Johnny’s engorged member hot against his belly through layers of cotton. He raised an inquiring eyebrow, and just like that, before he could process what was about to happen, Johnny lunged in and pressed his mouth against Daniel’s own, hard enough that their teeth clacked. Daniel fisted his hands into Johnny’s sleeves; Johnny grabbed him one-handed by the scruff of the neck, his other hand seizing Daniel by the shoulder, and they were stalemated, each held firmly in the embrace by the other, devouring each other’s mouths.

Without conscious thought, Daniel canted his hips up and forward to rut against Johnny’s length. Johnny groaned filthily and pulled Daniel’s mouth away from his by the roots of his hair; the sting made Daniel wince and release a shuddering breath.

“What the fuck,” Johnny gasped. His lips were wet, swollen.

“Fuck,” Daniel panted back, his vision blurred. “Someone’s gonna-“

“You’re so fucking turned on right now." Johnny’s blue eyes are dilated with desire.

Daniel burst into a laugh. “Yeah, so are you, asshole. Remember that day you bent me over the kitchen counter?”

“I remember,” Johnny said, his gaze locked on Daniel.

“And new year’s eve? That morning? The way you just _took_ me.” Daniel loosened one hand from Johnny’s sleeve and gripped his hair to pull their lips together a second time. Johnny’s body threw off body heat in waves; he could feel the man’s heart thrumming in his chest, breathe in the scent of his sweat and his aftershave, feel his fiancé’s hand slide under his loosened top to press against his lower back, nudge under his waistband to cup his ass...

A few overheated minutes later, Johnny pulled their mouths apart, panting against his cheek. "I wish we could leave now and-” 

Daniel shoved him back a foot and smirked at his open-mouthed astonishment.

“What?”

“That's what I like,” Daniel told him archly. “Too bad you can’t handle it.”

Johnny leaned in and growled. “All right, fucker. Guess you don’t want me to bend you over the-”

“Johnny, the kids are gonna hear.”

“-furniture,” Johnny murmured into his ear, “hold you down by your hair and-”

Daniel feels his face flush. “I mean, I'm not a girl, but, uh, yeah, that would-”

“-sexist pig… where was I? Oh yeah, hold you down so I can-“

“Fuck.” He closed his eyes, sagged into Johnny, and trembled in anticipation just _imagining_ Johnny pinning him down to -

“-open you up with my-“

His mouth watered and he shivered. “Yeah, Jesus, Johnny, please.”

“All right then,” Johnny agreed amiably as he stepped back, breaking contact. “Why didn't you just say so?”

Shaky-legged as a newborn colt, Daniel took a deep breath to steady himself. “Asshole,” he finally breathed, though there was no real anger in it.

Johnny smirked at him, triumphant. “Then let’s finish up this class and go home.” Without so much as a backwards glance, he pushed through the door to the dojo where their students still practiced, blissfully unaware.

Daniel sagged against the wire rack and ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to smooth it back down. Once he’d caught his breath, he straightened and re-tied his top, steeled himself, and walked through the door with as much nonchalance as he could fake.

...

The sun was setting by the time Daniel pulled the condo's door closed behind them, filling their flat with a mellow orange glow.

“Babe, let’s get cleaned up,” Daniel started to say until Johnny startled him by wrapping him in a bear hug from behind.

“Later,” Johnny told him. “Grab a couple of beers and we’ll watch the sunset.”

“Beers? Yeah, ok,” Daniel agreed with a shrug. Where Daniel appreciated a decent microbrew, Johnny still carried a torch for those pisswater Coors Banquets he drank as a teen, and sadly enough for a discerning bar owner like Daniel, that’s all they happened to have in the fridge tonight. So he grabbed a couple and carried them to the balcony to wait for Johnny, who’d disappeared to the bedroom. He reappeared minutes later wearing a bathrobe of all things - Daniel, still in his gi, rolled his eyes - and leaned casually against the railing, pressing his shoulder against Daniel’s.

“So,” Johnny said. “You think I don’t trust you.”

Daniel sighed, twisted the cap off of his bottle of pisswater, and took a long pull from it. “I was angry.”

Johnny squinted towards the sunset. “You were honest.”

He winced, shrugged. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I think.”

Johnny took a drink and they watched the sun set in silence. When the edge of the sun’s disc sank below the water, he spoke again. “You’re really 100%?”

“That’s what I said.” He leaned against Johnny, who snaked an arm around his back and rested his chin on Daniel’s shoulder.

“Okay, I read you loud and clear. So have you ever thought about getting bent over the railing-“

“What?!”

“-and pounded until you beg for mercy?”

Daniel started to pivot in surprise; Johnny shoved him back against the balcony rail, hard, and pinned his hands to the railing with an iron grip. “Johnny,” he laughed, “come on.”

“You said you could take it,” Johnny rasped into his ear, his chest pressed against Daniel’s back, the hard length of his cock making its presence felt at Daniel’s cleft through his clothes. “If you want it, hold on tight.”

Daniel did as he was told and folded his fingers around the cold metal. “Someone's gonna hear us out here, sound carries,” he started to say - until Johnny’s fingertips on his nipples arrested his breath.

“That’s up to you, they won't hear _me_ ,” Johnny said, and rubbed both hard little nubs, which made Daniel gasp and flinch forward, which pushed his ass harder against Johnny’s erection. “Yeah, you like that.”

With the sun down, the sky darkened and their condo's lights off, there was little chance of being seen, but oh, so much danger of being heard. Daniel squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his lips together, determined to withstand Johnny's onslaught of mouth, hands, and whispered promises. Johnny had untied and opened his top, stripped his pants, and pressed him to the rail with his own robe open, skin to skin, and Daniel was able to muffle his desperate sounds, at least for a while. He finally lost the game when Johnny seized the back of his neck, holding his head down and forward, and plundered his entrance with what felt like a sizable amount of Vaseline. He couldn't help but release an ululating whine at the first hard push of two of Johnny’s thick fingers. And when Johnny yanked his fingers free and fisted both their members together in his slicked hand, Daniel cried out again, without control. He ached to be filled, and knew Johnny knew it too by the arch in Daniel’s back and the way he opened his legs and flared his hips. His hands started to hurt from his enthusiastic death grip on the rail, his signal to Johnny that he wanted this, very much so.

"Yeah, okay," Johnny mumbled, "we gotta get inside." He peeled Daniel from the rail, not gently, and hefted him up, his back to Johnny’s chest, to carry him blindly through the dark to their kitchen table. He made room for Daniel's trembling body with a one-handed sweep that sent papers and mail to the floor. Without any further delay, he shoved Daniel's sweat-damped head to the table with one hand, scrabbled with the other to shove his loose top out of the way, grabbed and held both wrists behind his back, and sank into him, inch by inch. Daniel cried out, knees shaking, a tumble of indistinct sounds accompanying his eager pressure back against Johnny’s hips.

Johnny paused, fully buried. "Can you take it?"

Daniel struggled to gather the breath to speak. "Yeah, yeah, give me-"

"Yeah, you take it so good," Johnny confirmed, and the praise in his voice prompted Daniel to shudder and pulse around him. "You always - damn…" he lost the thread in the heat engulfing him, so instead he moved, establishing an unhurried, deep rhythm with a little hook to hit that one place inside that always makes Daniel crazy. 

Then, he made it _last_.

They'd left the balcony door open in their haste, of course. Afterwards, Daniel clutched his spent fiancé gratefully and decided he didn't really mind. Finally, they’re back to 100%.


End file.
